“If you don’t return—”
Her grip on his hand tightened. “Yes?”
Light flared in his eyes, then died away to stark pain. “You will remain in my heart always.”
The French would let her return. They must and yet his words brought a tight knot of anguish to her throat. Before she could speak, however, the cane whistles shrilled again, drowning sound. Beyond the entrance of the fort could be seen the blue of uniform jackets as a French contingent formed to meet whoever might be emerging from the fort. They must not be kept waiting. With tears making her vision swim, she freed her hand and turned away. Alone, with the soft breeze catching her cloak and blowing its light weight around her so that it gleamed like gossamer in the sun, she moved from the fort.
The king’s lieutenant, the Chevalier de Loubois, was polite. His distaste as his gaze rested on her Indian cloak was obvious; still, he led her to his command tent and seated her on a stool. Refreshments were brought. A number of the other officers and men had gathered round. Among them was St. Amant and Elise nodded to him with a smile of recognition. Loubois sipped his wine, lounging at his ease on his camp chair, then, with sudden impatience, bid her to state her purpose in coming.
Elise drew a deep breath. “I have been directed to say to you: The Natchez have lived long and prospered in this land. When the French came here because there were too many men in their own country, the Natchez said to them, ‘Welcome, there is land enough for all.’ When the winters were long and food scarce, they divided what they had with the French, leaving their bellies less full so that the French could live. Often when the floating houses, the ships that brought the food of the French did not come, the Natchez took the soldiers of the French into their villages; they fed them, housed them, and their women made them at ease, taking pleasure with them as friends.
“In return, the French gave the Natchez the white man’s diseases. They treated them as slaves, taking from them what they did not give freely, beating them. The French would say that they gave guns and blankets. But what need had the Natchez for guns when their bows and arrows brought them all they could eat? What need was there for blankets when the furs of the animals were warm, when the women of the Natchez could make fine mantles of feathers and the fibers of the mulberry tree?
“Now in the last harvest season, the commandant at Fort Rosalie demanded the lands of the Natchez were they have lived for years beyond memory of the eldest man, the best and richest lands of the children of the sun. Were the Natchez to die without the corn standing ready to harvest, to die of moving in the winter season of cold and hardship so that the commandant might have what he wanted of them? The path of friendship does not require such a sacrifice, only the path of war. The Natchez therefore took the path of war. Commandant Chepart is dead and they have retrieved the value of all they had given to the French who came to the Natchez. They wish now only to live alone, at peace, without communication with the French. They will give up the French women and children they hold in return for your given word that they will be allowed to live unmolested by either the French or their enemies the Choctaws. In token of this pledge, they request that you withdraw a distance of at least three leagues from the fort at which time they will release the captives.”
The Chevalier de Loubois stared at her, leaning forward with his arm braced on one leg. His face was rigid, unyielding. When he spoke, it was as if he had heard nothing of what she had said except the offer of the return of the prisoners.
“In your opinion, Madame Laffont, how much longer can the Natchez hold out?”
“I couldn’t say,” she answered, her features stiff.
“Can’t or won’t? You see, I have heard of your affair with Reynaud Chavalier, of his gallant rescue of yourself. The man is the lowest form of life in this colony, a half-breed traitor. You owe him nothing. You lived through the massacre, have seen the Natchez at close quarters, are fully aware of the treatment of the French prisoners. You have information that is valuable to us. If you have any feeling for your country or your countrymen, you will tell us what we need to know.”
“I am not a military man,” she answered slowly, feeling her way. “What do I know of the ability of men to hold out during a siege?”
“I spoke not of their morale, but of their food supplies. Are they plentiful? How much do they have stored? What of water? What are their thoughts concerning the guns of the French?”
“The food seems adequate, also the water. They have not yet begun to ration it.” It was true only in the strictest sense. The water was rationed for everything except drinking and putting out fires. The lack of bathing was almost as great a hardship, but the king’s lieutenant need not know that.
“What of the guns?”
“They seem to be doing little damage.”
“Yes, yes,” the chevalier said, rubbing his hands together, directing his gaze toward the ground before he looked up again. “Why then this offer? We were most surprised to see a flag of truce.”
“I think that they truly wish to live in peace. They feel the massacre was a blow struck in retaliation for all that Chepart had done against them. It was a blood vengeance brought on the commandant’s head by his own actions. It is done now and honor is satisfied. They feel that your presence here is for the sake of the women and children. They will give them to you if you will leave them alone. If you take the prisoners and go away, then you will have nothing to fear from them.”
“That is childish reasoning! The Natchez have killed hundreds of our people. Governor Perier has sent to France for reinforcements, guns, supplies to put down a major uprising of the Indians. They will be here in a few months’ time.”
“Are you saying, Chevalier de Loubois, that because the governor has sent for more troops from the Company of the Indies he cannot now settle this matter of the Indians peaceably and without farther bloodshed?”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Indeed? To me it sounded remarkably as if the governor would prefer continued Indian trouble because otherwise he is going to appear like the boy who cried wolf.”
“That is not at all the case,” he snapped.
“Then if peace is important to Governor Perier and the company, I don’t see how you can afford to ignore this appeal, particularly as it may be the only opportunity you will have to secure the release of the captives unharmed.”
“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.
“The French women and children share the danger of the Indians and the hardships of the siege. How will you answer to the governor and the people of New Orleans if they die before you subdue the Natchez?”
“That will not happen.”
“I assure you, Chevalier, that much though you despise the Indians in that fort over there, if you press them, if you force them into a corner, they will die to the last man before they will surrender. If you harm their women and children further, there will be no fury to compare with theirs.”
“Are you saying that they will harm the captives?”
“It isn’t impossible. Governor Perier burned the Natchez women.”
He stared at her with an arrested look in his eyes before he put his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet. His manner was abrupt as he spoke. “I will have to think on this. I will rejoin you in an hour.”
St. Amant moved at once to her side, refilling her wineglass that she had hardly touched. Picking it up, placing it in her hand, he said, “Drink this. I believe you need it.”
“Yes, thank you,” she answered distractedly. As he complimented her on her appearance, she only shook her head as if the words were meaningless, which indeed they were.
“And the other women, how do they fare?’
She sent him a straight look, giving him her attention with an effort. “Much as you might expect. But are you sure that is your true interest, the other women, or is there one in particular who concerns you?”
“Elise,” he breathed, “you have see
n her?”
“Just this morning.”
“And? And?” he asked in impatience as he leaned over her.
Elise relented with a smile. “She is very well, indeed. You have a beautiful daughter who keeps the village awake with her demands.”
He closed his eyes and there was a rim of moisture clinging to the base of his lashes.
“I have a message for you also,” Elise went on. “She saw you, you know. She sends her love and her prayers that you will take care.”
“Ah, Elise, I could kiss you!”
“You had best not. Your Helene may be watching or Reynaud.”
“Ah, yes, Chavalier. I’m sorry if Loubois was unpleasant about him. I tried to tell everyone that you were abducted, separated from us against your will. It was Pascal who in his cups suggested otherwise. Henri has threatened to challenge him to a duel.”
“You must not let him!”
“Oh, Pascal would not meet him. He laughs at the boy’s insults, saying he was too smitten with calf love for you to believe a word against you.”
“Perhaps they will not come together often enough for there to be trouble.”
“The community around the fort in the Natchitoches country is a small one, but St. Denis is looking after the boy.”
“There are still there?”
“Assuredly. The place is more of a wilderness than Natchez, with better opportunities for smuggling with the Spanish at Los Adaes; why should Pascal not wish to remain? As for Henri, as I said, Commandant St. Denis has taken him in charge, given him work.”
They spoke of other things, of the baby and how it was born, of how Helene was living and the conditions of the siege, though Elise was hardly more forthcoming about the latter than she had been with the chevalier.
Toward the end of the hour, she sent St. Amant a quick glance.
“What do you think of Loubois? If he gives his word, will he honor it?”
“You mean, will he roll up his tent and match away to his waiting ship when he has the captives safe? He must, if he gives his word.”
“You think so? There are many who feel that a man’s word given to a savage is no word at all, especially if given under duress.”
St. Amant lifted a brow. “You have grown cynical.”
“Cautious, perhaps, but then I have always been that. But Loubois strikes me as an ambitious man. Would it not be a feather in his cap if he were to secure the women and children, then turn and annihilate the Natchez when they have lowered their guard?”
“He could prove the extent of the Indian problem, thereby giving Perier justification for his alarm, and at the same time save the company the expense of sending out men and arms to put down the uprising.” With a thoughtful frown on his face, St. Amant nodded. “It is possible.”
“Probable?”
“I would not like to think so,” he answered, his tone grave.
Behind them, the chevalier approached. He moved to bow to Elise. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, madame. It was most important that my decision not be made in haste since so much is at stake.”
“I understand,” she murmured, risking a glance at St. Amant. The smoothness of the king’s lieutenant’s tone appeared to strike him as odd also, for he was frowning.
“I agree to the terms you have presented. We will withdraw a short distance so that the women and children can be released. Then in return for the release of the captives taken during the massacre at Fort Rosalie, the Natchez may live unmolested.”
“You will smoke a pipe of peace with them?”
“Yes.”
“And the Choctaws will not be permitted to enter the fort of the Natchez?”
“They will not.”
“Their warriors will leave with you when you go?”
“They will.”
There was something here that she did not like, but she could not quite put her finger on it. She stood staring at the king’s lieutenant, trying to think of something she could say to bind the man to his given word. There was nothing.
The chevalier put his hands behind him, rocking back on the heels of his boots. “There is a condition.”
“Yes, what is it?” she inquired sharply.
“Simply this. The Natchez must burn this fort they have constructed to the ground in earnest of their wish for peace.”
To burn the fort would leave them virtually defenseless against a surprise attack. “I cannot answer for them, but I will carry word of this condition to the Great Sun and to his brother, Reynaud, chief of the warriors.”
Loubois lifted a brow. “You will return? I thought perhaps you would write out a message. You could then stay with us in safety.”
“It’s kind of you to suggest it, but they will be expecting me.”
“Are you certain we can’t persuade you?” St. Amant added his weight to the proposal.
“No. I must go back.”
“As you will.” The commandant of the French expedition bowed. “In the meantime, while we await our answer, we will prepare to receive the captives.”
It was a dismissal. Elise, feeling unaccountably as if she had been manipulated rather than having won a victory, began the short walk back to the fort.
The council of elders that ensued was one of angry and acrimonious wrangling. The older men did not trust the French. The white officer had given in too easily, they said. More, if the Choctaws were not to be allowed into the fort, why were they gathering in ranks outside? Could the French be so without intelligence as to allow the captives to be received by the Choctaws? They would not be turned over to their own people without the payment of a large ransom, in such a case. If that happened, the French would then blame the Natchez, and might that not be used as an excuse to negate the terms of the peace? They would not deliver the captives.
They must deliver the captives, said the younger faction. To fail when they had promised would also negate the peace. The French, with the Choctaws, would fall on them in a pitched fight and what then? They were not as strong as they had been, not since the fever. If the French and the Choctaws overran the fort, there would be a massacre and it was doubtful that their women and children would escape.
Reynaud, after listening closely to Elise and questioning her with care, recommended yet another course. He suggested that they wait until morning to send the pipe of peace, the calumet. There was no reason to hurry their capitulation. There was less chance of making a mistake if they did not rush into anything. Let the French withdraw, as they were already beginning to do. True, the Natchez must release the captives since they had given their word, but they need not destroy the fort until the French and the Choctaws were gone, not if they stipulated this safeguard as a part of the agreement. Then, if the French failed to lift the siege, the Natchez would at least not have the captives to worry about or to feed.
The Great Sun, listening, watching, said nothing. He heard them out, just as he had heard Elise out as she told Reynaud everything that had occurred at the French encampment. It was not, Elise thought as she studied him, because he had nothing to impart to the discussion, but because he wanted to hear all the arguments before stating his own views, before ordering a course of action. If the council could not agree, could not make a recommendation, the decision would rest with him.
“Elise!”
The quiet call came from behind her. She turned from where she had been watching the proceedings of the council at the outer edge of the crowd to see Helene beckoning to her. Rising, she joined the Frenchwoman out of hearing distance of the important meeting.
“What is it?”
“Is it true that we are to be released? Oh, tell me it’s true!”
“I don’t know. It appears so.”
“When?” Helene demanded, catching her arm.
“Perhaps this afternoon, perhaps tomorrow.”
“The rumors said so, but I could not believe them. And Jean-Paul, you saw him, you gave him my message?”
Elise reassured her, telli
ng her word for word what had been said, describing to her how St. Amant had looked, how he had reacted to the news that he had a daughter.
Helene scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, then gave Elise a quick hug. “What a fool I am to cry over good news. But I must run and tell the others. There are such rumors flying you would not believe. They will be so happy, so happy.”
The council droned on. Noon came and a meal was served to the members. The people privileged to watch came and went. Outside the wall, Loubois joined the Choctaws, pacing up and down, staring at the fort. After a time he went away, then as the sun began to coast down the sky in the west, he returned.
Elise, her legs and back stiff from sitting, left her post. She walked to the hut, looking inside for Helene. It seemed she had not been there in some time. The fire had died away to coals and ash and the pots left simmering around its verge were cold, the bear grease seasoning congealing on their contents. The baby was gone, too, and the furs where she usually lay were cold.
A peculiar fear gripped Elise. She swung out from the hut, skirting the small mound of the Great Sun and avoiding the plaza. She turned toward the huts of the Commoners where the French captives usually met.
She found Helene and the baby among the other captives in a crowd under the smoke-blackened limbs touched with the tender new green of a sweet gum tree. They surged around her, pleading, demanding, so that a passing Natchez woman laughed to hear their ill-mannered babble as they all tried to talk at once.
They had been told that they would be released, but the day was coming to an end and still the order did not come. The French were withdrawing, except for a token detail, and also many of the Choctaws. Was it all a lie? Were they to be kept forever by the Natchez? Had their country and the Company of the Indies abandoned them?
“We don’t ask for much,” said one woman, twisting her hands, “only the courtesy of being told what is to become of us.”
“I wish I knew,” Elise said helplessly.
“The Natchez!” another woman said and spat.
“The soldiers of the company!” said another and repeated the action.
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